


backpack, backpack

by fangedangel (clockworkqueen)



Series: T'Chucky Trash [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Background or Implied Stucky, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War, Civil War Trailer, Gen, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, T'chucky - Freeform, WinterPanther - Freeform, mentions of torture, plz stop fighting!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkqueen/pseuds/fangedangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T'Challa rips the backpack Barnes had been carrying around in two. What seems like hundreds of handwritten notes fly out, and after reading some of them, and looking into Barnes' horrified face, he doesn't want to fight him anymore. He can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	backpack, backpack

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii. I've recently fallen into a very deep T'Chucky/WinterPanther hole over on Tumblr, and I shamelessly wrote this to add to the awesome. I even started a fanblog for them, feel free to follow me here:[heckyeahwinterpanther](heckyeahwinterpanther.tumblr.com)
> 
> The start of this scene is based of off the part in the trailer where Panther like turns around at the bullets raining down like "tf this suit is vibranium, what u doing'
> 
> Enjoy! xx

They were fighting on the rooftop when the bullets began to rain down from the hellicarriers.

Barnes ducked out of the way, because he lacked any sort of armor, though T’Challa had gathered that a couple bullet holes wouldn't stop him anyway. He was a formidable opponent, and if circumstances were different, one which T’Challa would be proud to fight next to.

Unfortunately, those were not the circumstances.

T’Challa bolted after Barnes who was swinging down the rails of the parking garage stairway with a practiced ease. T’Challa could play that game too, and he followed after him quickly.

At this point, the fight was dragging on, with no clear end in sight and no sure winner. It seemed as though someone had unofficially made him the keeper of Sergeant Barnes(though he was sure Captain Rogers wouldn't be too happy about that). The two of them had been fighting on and off for days, and T’Challa could tell that he wasn't the only one growing weary.

Barnes ducked into an alley close by, and T’Challa was surprised to find that he was only an arms length away or so, and stretched his claws out, ripping the backpack he'd been carrying around in two.

The way Barnes froze was almost like the claws had punctured him, instead of missing his body completely. He turned around slowly, his face becoming one of the most pure looks of horror T’Challa had ever seen.

What seemed like hundreds of pieces of paper floated out of the torn bag, floating gently to the ground or taking flight in the gentle breeze. Writing covered the white sheets, different amounts on each.

The lost and almost frightened look on Barnes’ face, one that he hadn't seen before caused T’Challa to retract his claws and bend to pick up a few pieces.

They were dated, with dates from the last few months. As his eyes read over the words, a sick feeling overtook T’Challa. Barnes stood in front of him, frozen, like someone was pulling on his strings to keep him in place.

The older the notes, the more mechanical the handwriting was, like the practice letters in books that they used to teach little children how to write. These were also the shortest notes, the ones with the least detail.

_I think I had a sister. I don't remember her name but I can sometimes see her face._

_Someone tortured me. Before, a long time ago. I think an angel saved me._

_Double dates at dance halls._

_I don’t remember my father. I don't know what that means._

One simply read: _Steve_.

The newer the notes, the ones written most recently lost a bit of their mechanical handwriting. They looked more human. But they were the longest, more detailed and held more horrors.

_I didn't want the boys to suffer. So I fought and they left them and took me. They strapped me to the table but I didn't say nothin. Not when they cut into me and played with my insides, not when they stuck me with needles. I remember fading in and out of consciousness, I don't remember how long I was there, but I knew that something was wrong. I was healing from the incisions much too fast. Too fast. Name, rank, serial number. And Steve. That’s all I knew._

_We were twelve, maybe thirteen. Steve was sick again, and Sarah couldn't afford the hospital that she worked in. I picked up his homework from school, and bought him an ice cream with the change I’d been saving up to buy something for someone. I hurried to Steve’s and thrust the ice cream in his direction before it could melt. His smile was like the sun._

_The last thing I saw before I fell was Steve’s face. His horrified, grief stricken face. I closed my eyes as I fell because I didn't want to see it anymore. The last thing I wanted to see before I died was Steve’s sunny smile._

_I didn't die. It was cold it was so cold. Blood in the snow. Blood everywhere. I couldn't feel any of my extremities and I could tell my left arm was damaged. Why didn't I die?_

_I woke to the sound of an electric saw and a room full of doctors. They brought it toward me and I screamed and I screamed but they took my arm anyway and I felt as the saw surpassed layers of skin and muscles and then bone. I don't remember much after that because I -_

T’Challa tore his eyes from the pages in front of him, hands almost shaking as if they too were horrified by what he'd just read. He stepped cautiously toward Barnes, who backed up a step, looking every bit the skittish horse that Captain Rogers had seemingly been implying that he was. Right now, Barnes wasn't a brutal, fear-inducing assassin. He was…frightened. And of what, T’Challa wasn't sure.

Barnes bent down shakily, seemingly trusting in the fact that T’Challa was an honorable man, and wouldn't hit a man while he was down. Barnes began to quickly collect the papers from the ground, with an urgency that he couldn't hide in his stiff posture.

“May I…offer my assistance?” He asked gently, not wanting to startle him.

Barnes looked up, his surprise more than evident. But he nodded his assent. After a brief moment of thought, T’Challa pulled his eared cowl off of his face, and tucked it into one of the suits convenient pockets. He bent down next to Barnes, close but not too close.

He added more papers to the small stack already in his hands, and tried not too read what was on them too closely. It now felt like an invasion of privacy. But still, words caught his eyes without him wanting them to.

 _Sarah_ _Rogers_ , _cryofreeze_ , _pain_ , _Brooklyn_ , _the_ _107th_ , _Stark_ _Expo_ , _the_ _Commandos_ and _memory_ _wipes_ were some of them. Memory wipes. _Memory_ _wipes_. This backpack wasn't just a backpack for Barnes. This backpack was his identity. His experiences. How he got from point A to now. These pieces of paper were him trying to find out what made him human.

When they'd picked up everything that was salvageable from the dirty alley, T’Challa handed Barnes the notes. Barnes finally met his eyes and did a double take. T’Challa allowed himself a small smile.

“You should do that more,” burst out of Barnes, like he couldn't help himself.

“Do what more?”

“Smile. It…looks good on you.” Barnes looked back down at his feet, his papers clutched protectively to his chest.

“Thank you. I haven't seen you smile, either.”

“When I figure out how, I’ll let you know,” he bit back.

The smile fell from T’Challa’s lips quickly, and he made to apologize, but Barnes cut him off.

“That was supposed to be a joke…I didn't come out right.” Barnes hid his face under his hair again and he resisted the urge to brush it out of the boys’ eyes himself.

“No worries.” Barnes began to attempt to shove the papers in his bag, though it was clearly ripped beyond repair. He seemed in a hurry to get out of here, and T’Challa understood that completely. Where would they go from here? His moral compass would not allow him to fight against, to hurt Barnes. And more than that, he didn't want to.

He voiced these concerns to Barnes, who didn't really relax much. “Alright,” he said cautiously. “But what are you going to do about Stark and the others.”

“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll figure something out, always do. I know where I can get you another backpack too.”

Barnes eyes brightened a fraction. “Okay…your Highness? You're a king right?”

T’Challa snorted. “I guess you were briefed? Yes, i am. But don't call me that.”

Barnes was the one to snort this time. “I know you're calling me Sergeant Barnes in your head. So why can't I call you your Highness?”

“Fine,” T’Challa conceded, something he never does. “What do you want me to call you? Bucky?” He wrinkled his nose a bit at the nickname.

“Nope, James. T’Challa, right?” He seemed much more at ease now, something he supposed simple joking could achieve.

T’Challa on the other hand still felt off balance. The notes had thrown him off; they were the only explanation for why he liked the way his name sounded on Barnes’ lips so much. “That’s right…James.”

James gestured in front of him with the arm that wasn't full. “Well lead the way,” he said. with a whispered “your Highness,” thrown in that T’Challa’s ears could obviously pick up.

He sent a withering glare his way. “I am going to need you on your knees if you are going to call me that,” he bit out.

The look James gave him went from surprise, to shock, to amusement to something like…interest. “Well, we’ll see.”

T’Challa chuckled, and the two of them made their way out of the alley and into the light.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! I love feedback! :)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr:[heckyeahwinterpanther](heckyeahwinterpanther.tumblr.com)


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